It's Amazing What Whiskey Can Do
by Mrs.VanchaMarch
Summary: A little bit of alcohol now and then can help get a person unwind. Especially if that unwinding involves erattic sex with a detective inspector *oneshot, pre-John, pre-Mystrade. Contains mild language and great sex*


**Pre-John and pre-Mystrade. This is just a oneshot Sherlock/Lestrade fic and obviously unrelated to "Rated M" because in that story, Sherlock is a virgin and John is his first. I always think that before John came along, Sherlock and Lestrade had a very brief thing going. Anyway, shameless smut ensues.**

**Warnings: Mansex. I like it, don't you?**

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my dirty mind and my imaginary plotmaster who plants these devious thoughts in my mind.**

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><p>Gregory Lestrade was a relatively patient man. Well, as patient as one could get when working with Sherlock Holmes. Working with, not living with while at the same time being in a relationship with. Therefore, John Watson's patience on a scale of one to ten with Sherlock was a definite eleven.<p>

But there had been a time, a very, very brief time, in which Lestrade was up there on that same scale. Not quite an eleven like John, but it was definitely high. See, before John came along, Sherlock's bouts of boredom were worse. He needed some way to entertain himself; something other than drugs and cigarettes. And so, in the dimly lit and merry atmosphere of a pub, Sherlock Holmes found that source of entertainment; detective inspector Gregory Lestrade.

It was about three years before John came along. Having just cracked a very disturbing triple homicide case, and arrested the woman responsible for it, Lestrade had insisted they all go and celebrate their relief in the pub. Of course, Sherlock had simply scoffed and called it "child's play, really", but even he needed a night out; a break away from his lonely apartment.

"You should get yourself a girlfriend, freak." Sally Donovan downed the last quarter of her vodka and coke and sat back, gesturing towards the consulting detective with the glass as she slurred. "Would do you fucking wonders."

"Or a boyfriend!" Anderson piped, pushing his empty pint glass forward in a dramatic gesture. "I think you're _gay_!"

Sherlock sneered and pointedly looked away. The small booth they had been occupying wasn't home to the friendliest of conversations. Seeing as Sherlock just about hated Anderson and Donovan, it was awkward too. But after a few drinks (and by few, it insinuates about four tall vodka and cokes for Sally, five pints of cider for Anderson, A couple of whiskeys for Lestrade, and a half drank cocktail for Sherlock.)

"Ooh! That would make sense!" Sally snorted.

"Maybe he has a secret crush on Dimmock!" Anderson and Sally all but exploded in a fit of giggles.

Lestrade must have seen the look on Sherlock's face –one that suggested he was going to make some snide comment about their secret affair, and just a little bit… hurt? - Because he immediately raised a hand to the two of them.

"Alright, children. That's quite enough." He took Sally's drink from her grasp and set it where she couldn't get it. "I think you've had enough to drink for the night. I suggest you go home and… sober up."

"But it's only ten-"

"I don't care Anderson! Just clear off from here."

"Fine. Come on, Sally." Anderson took the still giggling sergeant's waist, leading her out of the pub.

"I'll have words with them." Lestrade finished his second whiskey and pushed the glass away. They were both alone in the booth now and because of the extra space, Lestrade moved to the opposite side so he was facing Sherlock.

"It's fine. They're drunk." Sherlock swirled the pink cocktail around the glass, pushing the olive in it with a little umbrella. It was a very… feminine drink, to say the least. A few moments of silence passed until Sherlock had the liquid drank.

"Another?" Lestrade nodded to the almost non alcoholic cocktail's glass and dug out his wallet.

"I think I'm going to try something stronger. A whiskey maybe." Sherlock sighed. He wasn't much of a drinker, but he was in no rush to go home just yet. There was nothing particularly exciting waiting for him there anyway. He took out some money from his own pocket. "But let me."

"Oh. Aright… Same for me then." Sherlock nodded and Lestrade watched as he rose from his seat and walked (more like sauntered over) to the bar. There was something oddly distracting about Sherlock; the way he could be so thin but still very strong. The way his curls bobbed just slightly with the steps he took. Not to mention how chiselled his cheekbones were, or the way his skin contrasted against his dark hair. Lestrade wasn't _that _into men, but if there were ever a man he would consider snogging, then by god it would be Sherlock. He shook his head of that thought; definitely the whiskey thinking.

One whiskey turned into seven for Sherlock, and border lining ten for Lestrade. Being a lightweight for drink, Sherlock was tipsy and giddy. So was Lestrade, and within the hour they had drank they had giggled about anything and everything that popped into their heads. The space between then had grown less and less and by the time Sherlock had nine whiskeys down him he was practically sitting on Lestrade (his right leg was thrown over Lestrade's left.) Not that the latter minded, seeing as one arm had snaked around Sherlock's waist and the other was resting on Sherlock's upper thigh.

The latest giggle about how Anderson sort of resembled a pinch faced old woman had died down to breathlessness. For a minute they just sort of sat together, breathing in each other's whiskey filled breath. They slowly became aware of their very close proximity, and Lestrade's hand was hot and burning through Sherlock's tight jeans. The detective's breathing grew heavier, and as Lestrade's hand travelled slowly upwards towards the very top of the Sherlock's inseam just by his crotch, their heads drew closer.

The next thing they found themselves doing was kissing feverishly, with Sherlock shifting around so he could straddle the DI's lap, grinding into his crotch as he did so. Lestrade's hands latched onto Sherlock's ass to hold him in place, giving copious squeezes which seemed to be drawing shallow moans from Sherlock (all of which were muffled by lips and tongues.)

"Ahem." A cough from behind them broke them apart fairly quickly, and Lestrade looked up to see the pub owner pointing at his watch. "I think you two would want to be leaving. We're closing in about five minutes." It was a lie, because Lestrade knew this pub stayed open until at least one am. It was only around midnight at this stage. But it was obvious in the man's scowl that other punters were finding their PDA a little too close for comfort. Instead of arguing, Lestrade and Sherlock just got up (the latter of the two fairly flushed) and left with a mutter of goodbye.

They remained silent until they were out the door and in the carpark. It was there that Lestrade all but shoved Sherlock up against the wall of the pub and resumed where they had left off, this time using his knee to push Sherlock's thighs apart and knead his crotch, and using his hands to slip under the detective's shirt.

"My place." Lestrade nipped Sherlock's lower lip and grabbed his hand. His apartment was closer to the pub than Sherlock's, so it was only logical that they go back there, really. They walked (and stumbled) at a brisk pace, even managing to fall _up _the stairs that led to Lestrade's apartment door. After fumbling with the keys, Lestrade had finally managed to get the door open and let them both inside before he was tackled onto his own couch in a flurry of flying jackets, and shoes being kicked off mercilessly. He had to hold Sherlock's wrists down when he tried to get his own belt off, a smirk playing on the DI's lips.

"Allow me." With that, Lestrade dipped his head down and used his teeth to pull down Sherlock's zip. He removed the skin tight jeans with difficulty, using both his hands just to shimmy them down the detective's skinny legs. "Jesus Sherlock, are these for teenage girls or something? Bloody hell." He managed to pull them off and toss them aside after a few minutes, and then started with his own belt. They undressed hastily after that and ended up on the floor beside the couch. They couldn't have cared one bit, though, because by the time their underwear was off and they were both fully naked before each other, they were completely aroused.

"Would you like me on my knees or on my back?" Sherlock purred, bloody _purred, _giving Lestrade a come hither look with his eyes. Lestrade got to his feet and yanked Sherlock up, crashing their arousals together.

"Neither." He whispered into Sherlock's ear, backing him up against the bedroom door. "I want you up against the door." They kissed as Lestrade hooked his legs under Sherlock's knees and shoved him up so he was off the ground. The detective's erection stood proud and left a sticky spot of pre-cum on their stomachs.

"We don't have – hmmf – anything to use." Sherlock was making reference to some lube.

"Let me take care of it." Lestrade hadn't even planned a scenario like this in his head (well, maybe once or twice, but he never would have thought it would actually _happen.)_ "Wrap your legs around me." Sherlock did as he was told, and Lestrade used his body weight and one hand to keep him propped against the door. He licked the top of his free hand's fingers, coating them in saliva. Sherlock was given another, slower kiss as he pushed a finger in. He allowed the detective to adjust before adding another finger and pushing them in and out slowly.

"A-ahh, oh my god…" Sherlock's breathy moans were a mix between pain and pleasure, coming in shudders and sharp inhales. The DI kept going, because they both knew the pain would pass eventually. His fingers worked their way in and out, gradually picking up pace and flexing around to stretch Sherlock out.

The angle they were at gave Lestrade enough room to crook his fingers just _so _to graze against Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock moaned and arched his back off the door entirely as Lestrade continued to tease that sweet spot.

"N-now! Christ, Greg_ do_ something!"

"As you wish." The DI pulled his fingers out and lined his already rigid erection against Sherlock's entrance.

What followed next was some erratic sex against the bedroom door. Lestrade had thought once or twice that the poor door would actually break down with the force they were using against it, but found himself easily distracted by the groans and moans of pleasure Sherlock was spewing, nipping on the DI's neck quite ferociously at one point (hard enough to leave a very visible hickey by morning, but soft enough so as not to break the skin.)

Lestrade made an attempt to hold the door steady and continue to fuck Sherlock, but every time he pulled back just slightly, the detective would roll his hips right up against his own. The DI ended up staggering backwards and landing on the sofa, with Sherlock straddling his lap. Sherlock helped Lestrade by moving in time with his thrusts.

"Sherlock…" Lestrade moaned out the younger man's name, knowing he was getting closer. His harsh thrusts slowed down and Sherlock's arms tightened around Lestrade's neck, rolling his hips so he could engulf the DI impossibly farther into him. The short but sharp upward thrusts were hitting his prostate hard and his cries of pleasure rang through the entire apartment, and probably through the walls and floor, but neither of them cared; to hell with the neighbours and their thoughts.

Sherlock reached his orgasm with a sharp cry, digging his nails into Lestrade's shoulderblades as he did so, and the DI wasn't far behind. They both stilled when they came, with the detective's head dropping into the crook of Lestrade's neck. His body went slack a moment later against the older man's, and they remained silent as they panted for breath.

"That was-"

"Shut up." Sherlock cut off the DI with a rough kiss, rocking his hips forward accidentally and making Lestrade groan involuntarily into his mouth. Sherlock pulled back abruptly and looked down with a breathless laugh.

"I was going to say mind-blowingly great sex."

"Well, I'd have to a-agree…" Sherlock bit his lip before continuing. "Ready for round two; sobering-up-sex?"

"Fuck yes."

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><p><strong>Um, yeah. In my mind, Lestrade and Sherlock had a brief thing before John came along (about a year after they met, and a year after Sherlock was clean again; that's another story) and before Lestrade met Mycroft properly. Though I'd say this relationship only lasted a month or so.<strong>

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